The last Solution
by quintobean107
Summary: When Sherlock and John receive heartbreaking news, and hope seems to be lost, how can they overcome like they have in the past?
1. Chapter 1

John sat quietly on the examination table. He kicked his feet slightly as his nerves crept up on him, his feet unable to reach the floor. He glanced around at the posters and charts on the wall, then reached out to the fake skeleton standing next to him, touching its limp arm causing it to swing. The doctor entered, his face dark. John took a deep, audible breath in and out.

221b Bakerstreet-

"Can you say, Sherlock?"

"Dada."

"No. Sherlock, Sher-lock."

"Dada."

"For Christ sake—

"Alright, Give it one last go."

Rosie stared blankly at Sherlock as he knelt in front of her high chair in the kitchen.

"Say...Sherl—"

"Dada."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the child,

"Why do I feel like you're doing this to mock me?"

Rosie giggled,

"Like father like daughter."

Sherlock stood, lifting Rosie from her seat,

"Nap time!" He said in a baby voice. He instantly crinkled his nose,

"Why the hell am I talking like that?"

John entered through the kitchen door.

"John, take this before I turn into a complete idiot."

Sherlock said trying to conceal a grin at the baby.

John stared at the two solemnly,

"Um...so, I've uh.."

Sherlock looked up at his friend,

"What's wrong? Don't tell me you forgot the milk again." Sherlock wined. He then turned his attention back to Rosie, wiping milk from her chin.

John bit his lip,

"No. I didn't go to the store."

Sherlock snapped his head to John, furrowing his brow. He looked the man up and down. A million deductions going through his mind at once. He noticed the sleeve of Johns right arm was wrinkled and unbuttoned but not the left one, as well as red eyes and dark bags beneath signaling possible crying and loss of sleep,

"Why did you need a Doctor?" Sherlock asked straightly.

John couldn't help but be impressed yet again by his friends wit. He paused for what felt like an eternity,

"I've got cancer. Stage 3, in my brain."

The room suddenly felt heavy. Sherlock's mouth hung open slightly as he tried to say something. John's eyes got misty.

"Please tell me this is another joke." Sherlock finally said.

John couldn't speak, or even look at his friend and daughter. He just shook his head.

Sherlock set Rosie back in her high chair, paced the room in a panic,

"Well, you'll do radiation and chemotherapy—"

"What's the point?" John questioned looking at his companion, "I'm dying, I've got months—"

"There's something, there has to be something you can do—"

"There isn't. Sometimes there just isn't. I know you're not used to that but that's real life." Sherlock began to stammer, "I'll talk to Mycroft—"

"Sherlock! Listen to me."

Sherlock went silent and still, his lips tight, and his breathing heavy. Rosie began to wine quietly. John hesitated before picking her up. He kissed her forehead, holding her tightly to his side. He looked Sherlock In the eye. Tears finally began to stream down his cheeks,

"I need you... to look after her when I'm gone."

"No, I won't hear this." Sherlock replied, feeling his blood begin to boil. He exited the kitchen into the front room,

"Please. Please listen to me, as my friend and my daughters godfather." John followed with Rosie, now on the verge of sobbing. Sherlock paused, feeling the sting of tears welling in his eyes. He sat in his chair stiffly, waiting for John to finish. John remained standing,

"I need to know that you can do that for me. I can ask Molly but I'd rather Rosie be with you. Despite what you say you love her...and I know she loves you..." Sherlock's hands began to shake and his tears finally over

"Of course I will... but... I refuse to let you die without a fight John. That's never how we've handled things. You wouldn't let me die this way." Sherlock pressed,

"There's nothing to be done." John replied simply,

"How can you just stand there and say that?" Sherlock asked,

"You don't think I'm scared? I'm terrified. This wasn't in the plan. I thought... I thought because I was your friend—"

"Am." Sherlock interjected,

"Ok, I thought because I AM your friend, I was invincible, but clearly I was wrong. You..." John shook his head trying to regain control of his emotions,

"You are my best friend in the world, Sherlock Holmes, and what you have done for me these past years saved my life. Now I don't want this to ruin you. Please for Rosie's sake, don't let this break you."

Sherlock wiped his eyes, and stood. He stepped towards his friend and pulled he and Rosie into a tight hug,

"I will do this for you," he said softly, "but hear me when I say I will not stop fighting to keep you here. Not for a second. Not until after you've taken your last breath." Sherlock pulled away, swiftly walking to his room. He shut and locked his door. As soon as he heard the click of the lock he leaned into the door, weeping as quietly as he could. His legs gave out and he slid his back along the surface of the door until he reached the floorboards. He buried his head in his knees, giving in to his sorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

The London morning was quiet, cold, and solemn. Sherlock's body begged for sleep as he sat up against his bedroom door. He had been sitting there for 12 hours straight, unable to move. He just stayed still, thinking, crying, then thinking some more. John was right, there was no known option to take that would fix all of this.

No known options Sherlock thought. What's the point of being the smartest person when you can't even think of a way to help John? Sherlock rubbed his red swollen eyes. He felt the urge to seek some guidance or just talk to someone, an unfamiliar feeling that made him extremely uncomfortable. He reached into his pants pocket, pulling out his phone. He opened up his texts, scrolling through his options. The first name was John. He shut his eyes quickly, unable to even face the thought of his best friend, let alone read his messages. He breathed deeply, preparing to look at his phone. He opened his eyes, quickly scrolling past Johns texts. He spotted the recent text from "The Woman". He hesitated, his thumb hovering over the name. He finally clicked it, and read the last message,

"Happy Birthday, let's have dinner."

Sherlock paused again before typing his reply,

"Hi"

Sherlock hit send, then instantly regretted his decision. He exited the chat, and continued to scroll through his text list. He passed Lestrade, Mycroft, his mother, Mike Stamford, even Moriarty before finally reaching the last option: Molly Hooper. Sherlock felt a pang of guilt as he realized that as always she was last on his list. Sherlock hadn't spoken to her since the incident with Eurus two months ago. It seemed he had unconsciously managed to block out the events of that phone call. He hadn't given what he had said to her any more of his brain power, not because he didn't care, but because he didn't want to accept the idea that Eurus could have been right about his emotions. He opened their conversation and saw the last text was from her,

"Are you ok?"

The words struck a nerve within Sherlock, and he felt his chest tighten and the choking feeling return from last night. Sherlock continued to stare at her message. He eventually glanced at the time at the top of his phone screen. It was 6:17 in the morning. He sighed heavily,

"Sorry it's early, can I see you?"

Sherlock hit send, and within seconds three dots appeared on his screen, signaling her reply. Her response popped into view,

"Of course. Are you ok?"

Sherlock's jaw quivered as he tried to control his emotions.

"On my way."

Sherlock stood quickly, getting light headed from the lack of sleep. He shook the feeling, then quietly opened his door. He softly walked past the kitchen. He paused when he didn't hear the loud snoring he usually heard coming from Johns room due to his untreated sleep apnea. Sherlock stepped even more softly realizing that John was probably awake. Sherlock finally reached the flat entry door,

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock froze. Johns voice had stopped him in his tracks. He couldn't look at his friend. He knew John would be able to tell that he hadn't slept and had been crying. He couldn't let John see him this way, and he couldn't bear to face him. Not yet.

"Sherlock, where are you going?" John asked softly,

"You should sleep, John." Sherlock replied, equally soft, and still refusing to make eye contact.

"So should you." John said, still standing in the doorway. Sherlock bit his bottom lip, unable to come up with a response. The doctor really knew him,

"Where are you going?" John repeated with a worried undertone.

"Just out. Don't wait up." Sherlock stated, reaching for the door knob. John stepped forward, intercepting Sherlock's wrist. He looked Sherlock dead in the eyes,

"No, none of that. The last time you were sneaking around behind my back you were off getting high." John spoke in a fierce whisper. For the first time since last night he got a good look at Sherlock's face. It broke John's heart to see what the news had done to the detective,

"Now tell me what you're doing Sherlock Holmes or I will snap your arm."

Sherlock attempted to pull away from John, but couldn't,

"Please, let go John."

"No." John replied firmly,

"Please, let me go." Sherlock begged softly, his voice raspy from the long night. Sherlock continued to avoid Johns green eyes. John kept his firm grip for a moment longer, observing Sherlock. He then cleared his throat, releasing the taller man,

"I'm just worried Sherlock, about you. I've seen what loss does to y—"

"I know. Thank you for your concern, but please don't waste your energy fearing for me. Now get some sleep John, you need it. I won't be long." Sherlock stated brushing past John, and leaving through the door. John watched Sherlock's back as he briskly descended the stairs, catching a glimpse as Sherlock wiped tears from his eyes. Once Sherlock was out of view John shut the door, clenching his fists to fight back his own tears. John stood by the door, feeling a mix of fear, sadness, and regret. John made his way to the window overlooking Baker Street.

Sherlock stepped out into the frigid cold as he pulled his coat over his shoulders. He could see his own breath as he exhaled. A lone taxi slowly made its way down Baker Street. Sherlock lifted his arm to hail it. The cabbie pulled over, and Sherlock gingerly opened the door and entered. As the car lurched forward he looked up to the window of his flat. He and John met eyes. They're gazes we're locked until there was too much space between them.

John slowly slid the curtains shut. He heard the unavoidable sound of Rosie's cries from upstairs. He went to her slowly, feeling fatigued from lack of sleep and the continuous pounding headache he'd been experiencing for weeks.

After what felt like an eternity, the cabbie pulled the car over to let Sherlock out in front of a three story building. The pale brick seemed to be crumbling and the building itself was located in a high crime rate area. Sherlock approached the front door. Located next to the door was a column of buzzers. Towards the middle of the row was Molly Hooper's name. Sherlock pressed the appropriate button. The front door immediately buzzed back at him. He entered, then headed up the stairs to the third floor.

Molly stood by her flats entry door, unconsciously stroking her long ponytail. She nervously anticipated Sherlock's knock on the other side. It finally came. She opened her door at an unnatural speed, and was instantly taken aback by his appearance. He smiled half heartedly at her, his eyes still bloodshot and sunken in, his skin pale, his hair a mess, and a hint of stubble around his lips and on his chin. The two just stood silently for a few seconds. Sherlock knew she was looking him over from a medical standpoint already,

"Not to worry Molly. No drugs."

Molly snapped out of her stare, "That's good…" she replied with an uncomfortable giggle,

"Oh, I'm sorry, come in." She moved out of his way as he stepped inside, "Sorry, it's a bit of a mess, and me. A mess... I didn't have much time to freshen up I mean..." She stammered, pinching her hair between her fingers.

Sherlock observed her more in-depth. She was fresh faced, but there were traces of blush on her cheeks along with mascara on her lashes and gloss on her lips. He also could smell traces of perfume, mixed with generic house cleaner. Obviously she had freshened up. Sherlock smiled at her again,

"You look fine."

Molly smiled, turning away from him, hiding her expression,

"Um, you can sit if you want. Anywhere."

Sherlock glanced around, then settled for the middle cushion of her sofa. Molly loomed next to him,

"So, how've you been?" She asked clasping her hands in front of her. Sherlock notes her tense shoulders,

"Ah...Well, you know." Sherlock shrugged, giving her the same forced smile.

"Um...Can I get you something?"

Molly motioned towards her kitchen,

"Tea, or…. well that's really all I've got besides crisps." She self consciously chuckled. Sherlock shook his head,

"No, I'm fine."

"You're not." Molly stated factually, her upbeat expression fading. Her response caught Sherlock off guard,

"I'm sorry Sherlock. I didn't mean to be so forward." Molly said genuinely as she sat in the chair across from him,

"It's just, I haven't heard from you or seen you since...you know. I've really been worried, and every time I text…"

Sherlock leaned forward, supporting his upper body with his elbows rested on his knees. He avoided eye contact with her,

"Molly, I'm so sorry for any pain that day caused you, I never wanted to hurt you." Sherlock wiped his mouth after feeling a slight itch from his unshaven face. His eyes wandered to Molly's. He realized in that moment how hurt she must be. To get no explanation after a phone call like that,

" I don't deserve your time or help, but I promise I'll explain everything to you."

Molly nodded, looking down at her clasped hands, "That's not why you're here though."

"I was going to talk to you about that phone call... soon, but…" the feeling of a heavy chest came back to Sherlock. He struggled to continue, "Something has happened…" Sherlock bit his cheek, struggling to find his words,

"I trust you Molly. You know that. You've seen me at my lowest points, and you've always been there."

Molly listened intently twirling her thumbs in her lap, "What is it Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked away from her, hiding his now watery eyes. He took a few deep breaths, "John—" the word triggered flashbacks of last night inside his head. He attempted to hold back the tidal wave of sadness that took his breath, hurt his chest, and numbed his mind. Molly felt frozen as she watched him break before her. Sherlock's head fell into his hands, tears falling into his lap,

"John's dying." He barely managed to utter aloud. Molly began to tear up herself just watching him. Without a second thought, she stood, swiftly joining his side on the couch. She placed one hand on his knee, and the other stroked his upper back. She unconsciously leaned her head on his shoulder. Molly couldn't think of anything to say. All she could do was remind him that she was there with a gentle stroke of her hand. As Molly continued to hold him she felt Sherlock's body lean into her. She began to sob harder as she pulled him closer. She ran her small fingers through his dark, curly hair,

"Let me help you." She said meekly in his ear, "Anything you need, just ask."

Sherlock's mind clawed its way back into control over his emotions. He pulled away from her realizing how close they were. He stood nearly stumbling from his weakened state. He wiped his eyes, as did Molly. The pair remained quiet for a few moments. Sherlock kept his back to her trying to gather himself. Molly broke their silence,

"It's true you know. What I said that day. I meant it."

Sherlock turned to face her again, keeping his distance, his breath caught in his throat,

"I've wanted to tell you for years… I love you." Molly said, standing, mascara and tears still rolling down her cheeks. Sherlock's whole body shivered. His breathing becoming more rapid,

"Why?" Is all he could manage to say,

Molly smiled bittersweetly, shrugging her shoulders, "no matter what I do I can't shake it. It doesn't matter how many times I tell myself it'll never happen, or how many dates I go on... Every time I go out to dinner with a man I wish he was you. Every time." Molly wiped her eyes again with the sleeve of her sweater. Sherlock furrowed his brow, mouth agape. He couldn't wrap his sleepless mind around what she was saying,

"I'm awful to you Molly. I'm just awful overall, to everyone."

Sherlock shook his head, perplexed,

"I don't deserve you Molly Hooper. I could never be the man worthy of what you're giving to me." He said with absolute sincerity. Molly crossed her arms, comforting herself by rubbing her hands along them. She was now on the verge of sobbing,

"All I care about is you, Sherlock. It breaks my heart to see you like this." Molly hesitated, seeing Sherlock's unreadable expression,

"If you want to leave after all of this, I understand, but please don't let what I've said drive you away forever. If I can just continue to be a tiny piece of your life I'll be happy." She wiped her tears away, composing herself,

"If you want, I'll never speak of it again."

Sherlock stood absolutely still, unable to move, unable to speak. All of these emotions flowing through him made him feel drained and confused. For the first time in his 34 years, his mind went blank. Molly continued to stare, wringing her hands, brows furrowed,

"Sherlock, please say some—" before she could finish, Sherlock approached her. He took her face in his hands, then kissed her tenderly. The kiss made Molly's knees buckle. Her arms wrapped around him to brace herself. The kiss lasted about five seconds before Sherlock pulled away, assessing what he had just done. His hands still cupped her cheeks, and her arms were still encased around him,

"Sherlock…" Molly whispered, exasperated, staring wide eyed at him. Sherlock found that he could not process his actions,

"I'm sorry." He responded in a daze. He stared into her eyes while trying to find his reasoning behind what had just occurred. He came up with nothing logical, but one thing was clear to him emotionally: during their kiss, his overwhelming sadness was gone. In fact, though he wasn't certain, he could've sworn he felt...happy. Before his mind could even comprehend this, his lips met hers again. This kiss was even more passionate than the last. Sherlock's hesitancy was replaced by certainty, and Molly was much more prepared to participate. Sherlock slid one of his hands from her cheek to the small of her back, pulling her closer. She followed his lead, pushing up to him until there was no space left between them. Molly, moved one of her hands to the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair again. Sherlock's head began to spin. He had never experienced this sense of euphoria. There was an underlying unnameable force driving him to continue. The heat between them caused Sherlock to instinctively begin to remove his coat, all the while prolonging their caress. Molly, despite her blissful state of mind, noticed his action and reluctantly pulled away,

"Sherlock, wait." Molly backed a little further from him.

Sherlock's breathing was heavy, "Molly, forgive me, I don't know what's come over me." He said breathlessly, gathering his coat from the floor and running his hands through his even more tousled hair,

"No! No! No! Sherlock, you have to understand, that's all I've wanted for a very long time…. but you're hurting. What just happened is a result of that, not because you have real feelings for me."

Sherlock furrowed his brow, still unable to fully grasp what he was experiencing. Molly easily read his confusion,

"You've done this before. It's how you are. You need distractions to avoid your emotions, except this time, instead of drugs, it's… well, that." Molly insisted, "I'm not going to take advantage of you. If I had continued, that would've made things worse. I'm here to help you, not use you."

Sherlock rubbed his forehead, thinking things through. Molly stepped up to him again, clearing her throat,

"Here." Molly took his coat. She folded it gently, placing it on the end table beside her sofa,

"Sit down." She grabbed Sherlock's hand and guided him back to the couch. She stood in front of him,

"I know you're hurting Sherlock. Talk to me. Finding a distraction won't help."

"You're not a distraction, Molly. You're my friend." Sherlock said snapping his attention to her. Molly smiled ever so slightly, but it was quickly replaced with seriousness,

"If I'm your friend, tell me about what's going on." Molly persisted. Sherlock shook his head,

"I don't think I can." Sherlock clasped his hands extremely tight in his lap, turning his knuckles red.

"Tell me what's wrong with John." Molly continued, holding firm, despite her desire to comfort him again. Sherlock flinched at the mention of his friends name,

"Molly, please…" Sherlock begged her. Molly looked down into his captivating blue eyes which were now growing wet and glossy,

"You came here to talk, so let's talk. Don't worry about what happened a moment ago, it's meaningless." Molly requested. Sherlock gave her a questioning look,

"What if it wasn't? I can't tell you what it was, but there had to be a reason for it."

"Sherlock, you're here for John." Molly snapped, trying to steer him away from a conversation she desperately wanted to have. Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat,

"John…" Sherlock's face twisted after the name left his lips, "He told me last night… he's got months, maybe less." He couldn't help from letting out an audible whimper as he tried to contain his mournfulness,

"What's killing him?" Molly asked, still putting on a clinical facade,

"A tumor." A couple of tears fell down his cheeks,

"Malignant?" She questioned. Sherlock nodded. He wiped his tears, clenching his teeth. He suddenly felt a wave of anger wash over him. He was angry about feeling confused, he was angry at himself for being weak, and he was angry at the world for doing this to a good man like John,

"Where?" Molly asked firmly,

"Right cerebrum…"

Molly paused noticing his body language, "It's okay to feel whatever you're feeling, Sherlock." Molly said, softening her tone. Sherlock stood,

"Well, right now I'm mad. And second ago I was bawling my damned eyes out. I'm a bit new to this whole "caring" thing, and I really don't like it." He tramped his way around the room, fists clenched,

"Let's consider the facts. John Watson is dying. And I can't save him. My best friend in this world...John Watson, a man who made me realize that there's more to life than just crime, and death, and boredom. I've learned more about life in the 7 years I've been his flat mate than all of the previous 27 combined. Friendship, trust, loneliness…" He glanced at Molly,

"Maybe even love...He showed me love is apart of life. One loves their brother, their friend, mother, father, spouse, girlfriend, boyfriend, even their landlady for god's sake! You know that already don't you? Me on the other hand…"

Sherlock brushes that thought aside, "The facts: John has an infant child. She has no mother and now he is being taken away from her. What will she have? Me? I'm barely able to be an adult man myself let alone teach a little girl how to be an adult woman. You know me Molly. I'm impatient, unkind, reckless, and I attract danger. All of the things a teacher can't be. John's life is being threatened not by another person. No, I've dealt with that loads of times. That I can handle, but this…" Sherlock stopped in front of the bathroom door,

"All I can do is watch as he deteriorates and snivel like a child!" He punched the door with as much force as he could muster, instantly creating a large crack in the wood,

"I can do nothing!" He punched the door with the same hand, finding even more strength. The crack split even further, sending Sherlock's fist clear through the wood. Sherlock recoiled, hissing at the pain running through his knuckles. He was blinded by the stinging in his eyes from his distraught weeping. Molly rushed to his side, delicately taking his injured hand in hers,

"I'm sorry Molly. I'll pay for the damage."

"It's just a door, it can be replaced... your hand however can't be." Molly said watching purple bruises instantly form below his fingers. She knew he had definitely broken it. She rushed into her bathroom, opened a cabinet, and took out a first aid kit. Inside she found some medical tape and gauze. She tightly wrapped Sherlock's open hand,

"You need to get this looked at. Something is definitely fractured."

The sudden sound of a moaning woman coming from Sherlock's coat caught them both by surprise. Sherlock darted back to his coat, grabbing the phone. His cheeks flushed knowing Molly had heard.

"That was that woman's text alert wasn't it?" Molly asked, feeling very uneasy. Sherlock didn't answer. He opened the phone to read Irene's reply, but the screen didn't read "the woman" as the sender. What Sherlock saw caused him to drop his phone. Molly hurried over,

"Sherlock what's wrong?!" Molly picked up his phone, turning it over to read,

"Hey sexy. I'm back

-M"

Molly nearly dropped Sherlock's phone too, "This isn't possible. Someone's pulling a joke."

Sherlock took his phone back from her, staring at the message. It was clearly sent from the number that Moriarty had used to text him, and someone had changed his text alert to the same one as Irene Adler's. Sherlock nearly collapsed. Luckily the couch was there to break his fall. He started his reply,

"Moriarty is dead. Who is this?"

He sent it. Almost instantly another message appeared,

"Are you sure about that? Ask big brother.

-M"

Sherlock gritted his teeth, his nostrils flaring. He immediately dialed Mycroft's phone number. Molly sat beside him, listening.

"Hello Sherlock, what is it? I'm a little preoccupied at the moment ." Mycroft answered impertinently,

"Where is he?" Sherlock questioned, his voice filled with malice,

"What?" Mycroft responded in an emotionless voice,

"You know who I'm talking about Mycroft." Sherlock said, growing more enraged.

"Sherlock, calm down—" Mycroft didn't have time to finish his sentence,

"You've known about Moriarty! I know you're lying! Do you understand the severity of this Mycroft?! You've betrayed me, and lied to me once too much! You've let me go on not knowing about my sister, you've allowed Moriarty to ruin my reputation, and now you don't bat an eye when I'm wandering around ignorant to the fact that a man who wants me, and anyone close to me dead, is miraculously alive!"

"He's under the most extreme surveillance, I can assure you—"

"That he's under control? Hmmm, I feel like I've heard this before." Sherlock spat. Mycroft remained silent,

"Well Mycroft, Moriarty, whom you've just assured me is fully incapacitated, just sent me a text. You may want to check on your "surveillance". Now, If you ever wish to call me your brother again you will tell me: Where are you hiding him?!" Sherlock yelled, becoming irate. He stood grabbing his coat. Molly followed,

"Sherlock please listen, I did this for your own good—"

"Send one of your helicopters, cars, planes, or whatever the hell you have to send. I want to see him, right now! I'm sure you already know where I am." Sherlock hung up, leaving Molly's flat and jogging down the stairs. Molly stayed right on his heels,

"Sherlock! Slow down!" Molly reached for his shoulder as they reached the bottom of the stairs. He halted, turning to place his hands on her shoulders,

"Molly, listen. This is not safe. You know what he's capable of. Please stay. This is between him and I. I couldn't live with myself if something went wrong." He determinedly headed for the building's exit, but Molly continued to follow,

"I can't let you go by yourself! I'm not John, but I am your friend too! You said so. What kind of friend would I be if I let you go alone after all of this? Would John stay behind?"

Sherlock stopped out in front of the street, Molly a few feet back,

"You know John wouldn't do that, and I'm not about to." Molly took a few more steps towards him,

"Sherlock Holmes is a brilliant, courageous, outspoken, ass, who puts himself in harm's way constantly. A man like that should have a doctor on hand at all times."

A dark, shining government car pulled up to the curb. Sherlock looked back at Molly, thinking. Finally he snapped back to reality,

"If that's what you want." Sherlock opened the car door for her, " And I guess you are a kind of doctor Ms. Hooper." Molly smiled up at him as she slid into the car." Sherlock shut the door walking around to the other side. Knowing that he was out of earshot,

"Plus you can determine cause of death after I kill him myself."


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft stood outside of a large, deteriorating warehouse in a practically empty district on the east side of London. The location was surrounded by electric barbed wire fences at least six meters high. The perimeter had only one entry point controlled by Mycroft Holmes via a remote control he kept on his person at all times. His assistant "Anthea" stood beside him, texting on her cell phone. Mycroft remained stoically still, resting his hand on his umbrella. Their heavy coats fluttered in the strong wind. The building behind them, which seemed from the exterior to be collapsing in on itself, was an investment Mycroft made several years ago. He made certain that only his most trustworthy of allies knew what the purpose of the place truly was, and he alone knew of the remote control to get inside. Soon, the car he had been waiting for pulled up in front of the entrance. The gate slid open, seemingly on its own. The car slowly rolled its way in front of the elder Holmes brother. Before the car came to a complete stop, Sherlock came barreling out, slamming the door behind him. Molly, much less forcefully, exited the vehicle after him,

"You look terrible Sherlock." Mycroft observed as Sherlock pushed past him,

"Shut up." Sherlock hissed, not bothering with a formal greeting. Molly tried to keep up with him as best as she could,

"Hi." Molly waved awkwardly as she passed Mycroft. He raised one brow as she past him, then turned his attention to "Anthea",

"Make a note that Sherlock is not joined by John Watson." He commanded. She nodded, face still buried in her phone. Mycroft sighed, irritated by his assistant.

Sherlock and Molly reached the doorway to the warehouse, which at one point had two double doors attached that had since fallen off,

"This… this is where he is holding Moriarty?" Molly questioned, unimpressed.

"Believe me when I say that Mycroft would hardly leave us this disappointed."

Mycroft passed them, entering the building,

"Quite right little brother."

Sherlock remained quiet, refusing to acknowledge Mycroft. He was still extremely infuriated with him, and he couldn't imagine getting over it anytime soon. Possibly ever.

Mycroft lead the two through corridors, then down four flights of stairs into the buildings basement. The room they were in was pitch dark. Suddenly a concentrated light snapped on, making Molly jump. Mycroft had taken a small flashlight out of his coat pocket and aimed it at a wall on the far side of the room. There was a small kiosk with some kind of scanner on top. The group approached. Mycroft scanned his thumb, and the wall began to lift upward into the ceiling. Molly gasped,

"It's like something out of a movie. One of those James Bond ones." She said, mouth agape. Sherlock couldn't help but scoff,

"Mycroft and James Bond? Really Molly, that would make for an awful film." He retorted. Molly tried to stifle a giggle. Mycroft rolled his eyes,

"Are you two quite finished?" He asked. The wall was almost completely lifted,

"No." Sherlock replied, fire in his voice. Mycroft stared at his brother for a moment,

"Sherlock, I understand your frustration with me—"

"No you don't." Sherlock squared up to the slightly taller man, "Frustration is for ordinary people which you've made very clear you are not." Sherlock attempted to push past Mycroft, but Mycroft countered with a side step,

"Stop this nonsense Sherlock and listen for once in your life. I've spent years putting security, money, and time into this place, all to ensure your safety. The least you could do is show me an ounce of respect."

"I don't need saving. I'm not a civilian." Sherlock spat,

"Civilian no, but you are my brother." Mycroft whispered, letting his superiority disappear. Sherlock said nothing in reply. The wall was now completely up revealing a long, sterile, white hallway. At the very end, four guards stood on the outside of a large metallic door. Sherlock forced his way past his brother and down the hall. Molly and Mycroft stayed on his heels. Sherlock made it to the door. The guards, as per their instructions, blocked his path,

"Let him through." Mycroft ordered in an un-authoritative voice. He held up his ID. The guards instantly stepped aside. Mycroft moved next to Sherlock to enter his code. He hesitated glancing over at Sherlock who was observing very closely,

"Would you mind—" he began. Sherlock shot him an icy look. Mycroft bit his tongue, dropping his previous thought. He entered his code "0216". Sherlock furrowed his brow, running through the possibilities in his mind for what the number could signify. Obviously it held some importance based on Mycroft' soles for privacy. Molly watched Sherlock's expression.

The metal door suddenly unhinged, making a large woosh as it swung inward. Mycroft took a step towards the door but Sherlock pushed past him, followed by Molly. Sherlock rushed into the large room split in two by a bulletproof window. The set up was much like Sherrinford. Two guards stood on either side of the window, one directly in front of the door leading to the blocked off area. Sherlock ignored them both, and focused on the person on the other side of the glass. The mans back was to them, headphones in his ears, dressed in all white. Sherlock breathed heavily as anger continued to well up inside of him. Sherlock couldn't believe that this was truly the man he witnessed shoot himself on the rooftop that day, but if it was, he would kill him himself this time,

"What took you so long? One of the Holmes boys has slowed, is it you or big brother?" Moriarty turned his head grinning wickedly at Sherlock, "I've been so bored Sherlock, you have no idea."

Sherlock darted to the entry door. With one swift move he punched the guard in the jaw, sending him to the floor as he pickpocketed the man's gun. He then entered the code "0216" on the keypad. The door opened and he was inside Moriarty's cell before anyone could stop him,

"Sherlock! Stop!" Mycroft shouted. He motioned for the other guard to go after his brother. Sherlock countered by shooting three bullets at the locking mechanism on his end.

"You should know not to use the same code twice." Sherlock retorted, aiming the weapon at Jim's head. Mycroft tried the code but the door remained shut. Moriarty lifted his arms in submission,

"So I guess you didn't miss me." The small man smiled, holding back a giggle. Sherlock shot his weapon. The bullet zoomed past Moriarty's ear making him jump slightly. The bullet lodged itself into the back wall with a loud crack,

"Give me one reason I shouldn't end you right now." Sherlock hissed through gritted teeth,

"Sherlock. Wait." Molly said as she approached the glass. Sherlock glanced back at her, remembering that she was there,

"Molly! Remember me? Jim!" Moriarty mocked, still grinning. Sherlock returned his focus to the other man,

"Shut up." Sherlock took a menacing step forward, gun still ready,

"Oh come on Sherlock! Just having fun. Remember, we had lots of fun before…" he mimed a gun with his hand, pointing it into his mouth.

"I loved your dear John speech on the roof though. Truly inspirational. So much so that I decided to live after all!" Moriarty continued in a sing song tone.

"How did you do it?" Sherlock demanded.

"I had you fooled. You should have seen the look on your face when—" He didn't have time to finish. Sherlock lurched forward, placing his forearm in the smaller mans throat, forcing him back against the opposite wall. He pressed the gun under Moriarty's chin as he continued to pin him against the cold surface. Moriarty gagged and sputtered, trying to pull Sherlock's arm away from his windpipe.

"Sherlock! Stop, now! This is insanity!" Mycroft commanded. Sherlock ignored him. Molly pressed her hands to the glass wishing she could get to Sherlock,

"Sherlock—wait—" Moriarty choked, his face turning a deep red. Sherlock pressed his arm harder into Moriarty's throat,

"I'm done waiting." Sherlock whispered so only Moriarty could hear, "I finally get to see the look on your face when I beat you." The room was quiet for a moment, time seemed to stand still. Moriarty's eyes began to roll back into his head,

"But—-wha—what about— John?" Sherlock's breath hitched. He let up a little on the man's neck. Moriarty nearly collapsed into the floor,

"What did you say?" Sherlock questioned, his voice shaky. Moriarty coughed loudly, clutching his aching neck. When he didn't answer Sherlock grabbed him by the shirt collar, shoving him back into the wall, "John! What did you say about John?!"

Moriarty looked up at him, then smiled knowingly. Sherlock released him, staggering backwards and lowering the gun,

"You knew. How?"

"Knew what? What is he talking about?" Mycroft asked, feeling puzzled. Molly stood stiffly, barely able to breath from a weight on her chest,

"John. He's dying." Molly replied, still staring intently at Sherlock. Mycroft's mouth fell open, leaving him lost for words.

Moriarty spoke wickedly. "Let's have a little chat Sherlock. Just you and me."

"You can save John?" Sherlock asked. Sherlock tried to stop his hands from shaking, but they continued,

"Maybe...but the iceman must leaveth." Moriarty smiled at his own joke,

"Why?" Sherlock furrowed his brow,

"Sherlock, you're wasting John's precious time." Moriarty warned, faking a concerned expression. Sherlock turned to face Mycroft and Molly,

"Sherlock, please, I can't leave you here alone." Molly pleaded,

"I can't let you stay. This isn't your battle to fight." Sherlock replied sternly,

Molly spoke with determination, " I want to fight. Let me." Sherlock paused, laying the situation out in his mind,

"Molly stays." Sherlock decided.

After a moment of contemplation Moriarty replied with a groan, " Fine. But i'll end her if I feel it's necessary."

"Sherlock, you can't do this. He's using you." Mycroft shook his head, taking a step towards the glass,

"Go." Sherlock said quietly,

"No, I will not have this." Mycroft replied sternly,

"Think of it as a Christmas present." Sherlock spat. Mycroft's mouth snapped shut for a moment, caught off guard by Sherlock's harsh reply, then he managed to find his voice,

"If you listen to him, you will die, and then whose to stop him? Everyone will be in danger."

"This is your fault. Just as it was the last time. Apparently my only role in life is to clean up your messes, so if you'll excuse me, I better get to it." Sherlock snarled back. Mycroft remained still,

"Go!" Sherlock shouted, causing Mycroft to flinch. He still hesitated, staring at his brother with sad eyes,

"Mycroft." Molly said softly, "I'll help him. You have to go." Mycroft sighed still fixed on Sherlock who stared back intensely. He finally turned to exit, his guards following behind. The metal door clanged shut behind them.

Moriarty smirked, "Alone at last. Well, not quite alone." He glanced up at the security camera looming over them. Sherlock turned to face him, "Shoot that camera for me Sherlock, don't want anyone spying on our big plans." Sherlock did as he requested, hitting the camera directly in its lense,

"Big plans?" Sherlock questioned, still fingering the trigger of his commandeered handgun,

"Our partnership of course. Haven't you figured it out yet? I thought it was big brother who had slowed, but it turns out it's you."

"You want something that Mycroft has, and in exchange you'll save John." Sherlock hypothesized,

"Not something, everything." Moriarty hissed, "You took out almost all of my networking while we were "dead", and I want them all back."

"Almost all?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes,

"How else do you think I arranged all of this? It's all about who you know." Moriarty chuckled at the expression on Sherlock's face, "The first thing I need is Mycroft's passcode. The code he uses for all of the good stuff he's hiding."

Sherlock hesitated, "I don't know it." Moriarty laughed circling Sherlock like a lion,

"Don't play dumb. That doesn't work on me. You used it to get in." Sherlock grit his teeth knowing Moriarty has the upper hand,

"0216."

Moriarty furrowed his brow, then his face lit up and his eyes widened, "oh. How adorable."

"What, what is it?" Molly asked, concern plastered on her face,

"My birthday." Sherlock replied flatly. Moriarty laughed again, this time at Molly,

"You're obsessed with him and you don't even know his birthday?"

"I- I'm not—"

"I—I—I—" Moriarty imitated. He then turned to Sherlock, "Don't you just love it when your pets make funny noises?" Moriarty said from behind Sherlock. Sherlock remained still in his position, unable to properly think, "Earth to Sherlock." Moriarty knocked on Sherlock's skull three times,

Sherlock spun quickly to face him, "You don't just need Mycroft's code. We used his fingerprint to get in, you'd need that to get out."

Moriarty gave him an exaggerated pout, "Darn. Looks like my plan is ruined. Better just call it all off. Guess there's no hope for John."

Sherlock looked at the floor, feeling defeated, "What do you need me to do?"

Moriarty held out his hand, "The gun." He ordered. Sherlock glanced at the handgun he clenched in his fist, then placed it in Moriarty's waiting palm. Molly's body tensed as Moriarty lifted the gun to Sherlock's forehead. He made a long, drawn out gunshot noise, then smiled as he lowered the weapon,

"Open the door." Moriarty commanded,

"Shoot the hinges." Sherlock answered, internally seething. Moriarty complied. The door fell with a loud crash,

"Stupidity before brilliance." Moriarty stated, motioning for Sherlock to exit. As Sherlock passed, Moriarty pressed the gun into his upper back. Sherlock lifted his hands above his head,

Moriarty glanced at Molly, "Exit stage left!" Moriarty said. Molly looked to Sherlock. He nodded signaling her to do what he asked. Molly entered the code, then pulled open the heavy door. She was met with Mycroft a few feet away from the door and four guards standing around him,

Mycroft anxiously took a step towards her, "Molly! I heard shots! Is Sherlock—"

"He's fine!" Moriarty shouted rounding the corner after Sherlock. The gun still firmly pressed into the taller man's spine. The guards all lurched forward,

"Stop!" Mycroft yelled frantically,

"That's right, one more move and Curly here gets it!" Moriarty shouted in his best American southern drawl.

"Mikey, get all these guards out of here, I do hate to be outnumbered." Jim said flatly. Mycroft's nostrils flared, but he waved his hand, sending his guards away,

"Let me see those hands up in the air." Moriarty stated. Mycroft complied,

"Now wave em like you just don't care." Moriarty giggled.

Mycroft sighed, "What is it you want in exchange for him?" Mycroft asked, trying to sound cold and unfeeling,

"Just a thumbs up for all my hard work." Moriarty replied, grinning wickedly. With that, the gun rang out as a bullet flew straight through Mycroft's hand."


End file.
